


The Iron Smell of Irony

by CellarDoorFive



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Shiro (Voltron) Whump, Shiro (Voltron)-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 11:06:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CellarDoorFive/pseuds/CellarDoorFive
Summary: "They had tried to make him into something he was not, into their willing Champion. But the Galra hadn't broken him; they had given him a greater appreciation for life. He laughed weakly at the irony of that and instantly regretted it. The pain that spiked through his side was excruciating."





	The Iron Smell of Irony

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't stop thinking about the complicated relationship Shiro might have developed to pain over the years, and had to write some of it down!

It was a realization he came to over time.

As a kid, when he had scraped a knee – or that one time when he broke his arm – it was only a reminder that he wasn't invincible. He hated the reminder that he was vulnerable. The reminder that there might be something out there that could stop him in his tracks; stop him from reaching his goals. But now… Now every injury was a reminder that he was alive, that he still drew breath, that he could die. It kept him grounded. It kept him moving forward; though those steps were halting and swaying at the moment.

“Shiro? How are you doing?”

Shiro looked down at his right shoulder and cloth of his jumpsuit already saturated with blood and forced his hand to apply more pressure. Sharp stabs of pain immediately radiated outwards; his breath caught in his throat, his sight went white, and his foot caught on a rock jutting out of the ground, almost causing him to fall. But he walked on. He always walked on.

“I’m just peachy, Lance.”

“That tone is really selling it,” said Pidge, voice dry with lack of humor. “Though I think it could do with a bit more clenched teeth.”

Hunk whined unhappily over the comms, but Shiro just snorted before wheezing a reply. “Note taken.”

“We made it to the rebels’ emergency bunker.” That was Keith for you; no-nonsense and straight to the point. If there was a slight strain to his voice everyone had the good grace not to mention it. “It’s secured, and they’re confident that the group of Galra we encountered was the only one in the area.”

“Thank god!” said Hunk, and Shiro wholeheartedly agreed.

They had come to this Galra-controlled planet to assist a small group of rebels and had left their lions behind to avoid attention. The mission was to establish contact with the group and to see if they could provide any immediate assistance, but their arrival had coincided almost perfectly with an attack from the local Galra forces.

They had managed to evacuate everyone from the rebel base, but Shiro had been injured and separated from the others in the escape. Since they had beaten back the Galra, and the rebels were in chaotic disarray following the attack, Shiro had assured his team he was fine and ordered them to escort the rebels to their bunker.

As he looked down at his right arm hanging uselessly by his side, streaked in blood, he wondered if he should have made a more significant effort to reunite with them earlier.

“Did you hear that, Shiro?” Hunk continued, excitement evident in his voice. “The rebels are safe! We fulfilled your orders. Can we come and get you now? Please?”

“Are you sure that—”

“The next priority is to secure Shiro,” Keith spoke as if Shiro had said nothing, obviously not interested in listening to any objections Shiro might voice. “Pidge, do you have his location?”

“It is important that—” said Shiro before being interrupted by a staticky click and Pidge’s response.

“Yes. He has been heading for the pod as agreed. It should take us no more than 20 doboshes to get there.”

“That’s great guys,” said Shiro, breathing deep to quell his irritation and summoning his best approximation of his commander-voice that he could manage with a hole in his shoulder. “But you have to move with— _hng_ , move with caution. The last patrol sneaked up on both us and the rebels without any warning, and we cannot allow that to happen again.”

“We will be careful, Shiro,” said Keith, voice grave. “Don’t worry about us. Have you found a place to wait for us yet?”

Shiro had just crested a small hill and took this opportunity to survey the area around him. The plain he was traversing stretched on for miles, gently rolling hills broken only by a random smattering of smooth boulders. _Not good enough_. He also knew that if he sat down now it would be a hard, and probably futile, battle to get moving again; he did not enjoy the thought of being that powerless. He let the seconds stretch on and took a moment to just enjoy the slight breeze that buffeted him now that he’d reached the crest; he’d started sweating a while ago and the wind felt amazing on his flushed skin.

“Shiro?” The way Lance said his name made Shiro feel bad; he needed to focus, for the others’ sake.

“Nah. I’ll… I'll keep walking.” It was getting harder and harder to find the breath to speak. “Maybe I’ll even make it back to the pod before you guys get here.”

He took his first step to begin his descent down the other side of the hill, and his foot slipped. Vertigo gripped him as he fell backward, causing him to inhale sharply. As he hit the ground hard – unable to catch himself due to his rigid grip on his shoulder – it was only this fact that kept him from screaming; the pain that exploded from his shoulder was enough to make him gag. The world swam around him as he heaved for air and the black spots that danced across his vision refused to go away. Everything was white, and screaming, and _pain_.

The buzzing in his ears eventually resolved itself enough that he could make out the worried voices of his teammates, and he forced himself to gasp in enough air to say something to let them know he was still with them. “On second thought, I might just wait for you here.”

He tried to remind himself that pain was good: it meant that he was still alive. That he could still fight. But no matter how much he tried to blink them away, the dark spots in his vision only grew. “I think I’m— _hng_ … I’m about to pass out.” Shiro grunted out, gasping. “Just a heads up.”

He didn’t even hear if he got an answer.

 

 

He came to slowly, blinking his eyes open slowly as confusion and a sense of urgency warred in him. He shifted slightly and noticed that his left hand was tightly wrapped around his right shoulder. _Huh?_ He tried to move his right arm, but the attempt ended in a spike of pain and a sharp gasp as it all came back to him. _Stupid. Passing out on a hill… If there were any Galra around they would have spotted me instantly._

He scanned the area, but it was blessedly empty of any other life. He didn’t dare move his arm again, but he tried flexing the fingers. No problem – that was good. If the Galra found him before his team did he would have to be ready to fight, and the only weapon he had at the moment was his arm. It would have to do, no matter the amount of pain it would put his shoulder through; he was not going back to the ring. Not ever.

They had tried to make him into something he was not, into their willing Champion. But the Galra hadn't broken him; they had given him a greater appreciation for life. He laughed weakly at the irony of that and instantly regretted it. The pain that spiked through his side was excruciating.

“Shiro. Please answer!”

The loudness of Lance’s voice brought Shiro’s attention back to the present, and he startled so severely he almost released his shoulder. Almost. “What?”

There was no reply for a couple of seconds besides multiple sighs of relief and what sounded like Hunk crying in the background, and Shiro realized that they must have been trying to get his attention for some time.

“Shiro! You are alright!” Lance’s voice was giddy and choked, and Shiro felt a smile pull at his lips.

“Well…”

Pidge snorted into the com, but her voice was heavy with concern as she spoke. “We are closing in on your location. You were out of contact for almost 15 doboshes Shiro.”

“How are you holding up?” Keith’s voice was uncharacteristically subdued, and Shiro realized what a scare he had given them all. _Damn. Get it together. Pain is just a sign that you’re alive, nothing more._

“Let’s see…” said Shiro, doing his best to talk evenly. “There’re no big, scary monsters around this– _gah_. Around this time.”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t nailing this whole unaffected charade, but that didn’t mean that he was giving up on it. “And my wound’s not… _hah_. Not glowing. So, I think that I’m doing fine, all things considered.”

“Don’t worry Shiro,” Hunk’s tremulous voice reached him just as he saw a rebel-transport crest a hill in the distance. “We’ll be there any moment now. You’ll be alright. We’ll have you up and about in no time!”

“I know, Hunk,” Shiro found himself smiling as the transport closed in, finally allowing his body to relax somewhat with the knowledge that all would be fine. “I’ve never doubted you guys.”

And this pain would pass, as it always did, and he would be left alive.

A new wave of agony washed over him, and he allowed himself to sink into it, reveling in the way that it made him feel alive, and confident in the knowledge that he was safe.


End file.
